


The Only Thing on My Wish List

by agdgoddess



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: And a Very Happy New Year's to Come, M/M, Merry Fuckin' Christmas, Pre-Slash, Rickyl, prison era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 00:20:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13155153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agdgoddess/pseuds/agdgoddess
Summary: When Beth insisted on celebrating Judith's first Christmas, Rick was less than enthused. However, as the day drew near, he noticed everyone embracing the holiday spirit, including a certain archer (surprisingly enough). Which led to the quandary Rick currently found himself in...what in the hell do you get Daryl Dixon for Christmas?





	The Only Thing on My Wish List

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything from the emotional roller coaster that is The Walking Dead. I merely play with these breathtaking men for my own amusement...

Rick knew that Daryl had never been one to own many material possessions. The man had learned to live off the land at such a young age and never had had any money, so he just didn't have the disposition to want anything more than a full stomach, gas in his bike, and bolts for his bow. Which lead to the quandary Rick currently found himself in...what in the hell do you get Daryl Dixon for Christmas?

Celebrating Christmas certainly hadn't been his idea but Beth had been so damn insistent on giving Judith a proper first holiday, he couldn't bear to say no. Personally, he saw no need to celebrate the birth of the Savior that had chosen to forsake his supposedly beloved children, abandoning them to fight to survive in a literal hell on Earth. He gave up on that God after he was forced to put a bullet through Sophia's eyes. God hadn't answered his pleas in that deserted church and, after Carl had been shot mere minutes later, Rick sure as shit hadn't tried to reach out to him since. Plus, he was pretty damn sure they were off by at least three weeks from the actual day. No one had the time or energy to keep track of the days anymore. Hell, the only reasons he even knew it was winter were the shorter days and the perpetual chill in the damp walls of the prison. No silent night, no heavenly hosts singing down from upon high, no special fucking star clued him into that 'twas the season.

He firmly drew the line at Secret Santa, despite Beth's pouting. They didn't have the supplies to spare for homemade gifts and making runs for frivolous shit just seemed unnecessary and outright stupid. Rick's sour attitude didn't deter Beth whatsoever. Ever the eternal optimist striving to make their existence in the prison resemble a fraction of what they had before the Turn, her enthusiasm was fucking contagious. She strung up snowflakes cut from the pages of a book that no one would have ever deemed to read before or after the world went to shit. (Who the fuck needs to know about Extreme Ironing and why was that book in this prison library?) Then she fashioned a wreath out of some evergreen boughs she had begged Daryl to bring back while he was out hunting. At the time the hunter had huffed, feigning annoyance. However, he had returned with not only the green branches, but also dragging a spindly pine tree behind him because he could never deny Beth anything.

Said Charlie Brown tree was now propped in the corner of the common room where they ate, adorned with crude ornaments fashioned from the lids of tin cans twinkling in the candlelight and oil lamps. An advent calendar, which had been the first decoration to appear, hung on the wall next to it. It was just a piece of paper where each day was being X'd out by a big red marker starting at one going to twenty five. Apparently Beth felt the need to make this whole celebration last almost a goddamn month, not just one day. But it seemed that as soon as day thirteen was marked off and there were twelve days left, the rest of the family seemed to be not only on board, but actually getting into the holiday spirit. The latest run that Glenn and Maggie returned from had them bringing in multiple bottles of red wine and whiskey, plus a roll of aluminum foil they proceeded to cut into thin strips and drape over the branches of their pathetic tree. Out of the blue, a dented, dusty can of jellied cranberry sauce appeared on one of the metal tables. Rick highly suspected that Daryl had found it. Recognizing the fact that even the archer seemed to be embracing the festive mood made his heart soften a bit, and Rick was overcome with an eagerness to find an appropriate gift for him.

But what in the hell to get him? Any extra bolts would have been scavenged by their group or outsiders long ago. Procuring smokes for him didn't seem nearly personal enough, as every member of the family gave Daryl those they would happen upon when on runs. He didn't know anything about motorcycles, so attempting to find spare parts that would work on the Triumph seemed pointless. But, when reflecting on his lack of knowledge about motorcycles, he was struck with an epiphany. He knew immediately where to go and only hoped the particular item was there. Knowing full well that they would never let him leave the safety of the prison on his own, Rick found the one person who would understand a desire to please Daryl more than the rest.

***

The windows of the book store hadn't been busted through like the majority of the shops located in the ugly strip mall. Their group had swept these shops for supplies before, shortly after they had taken the prison back from the dead. Rick could only hope it was large enough to have exactly what he was looking for, as the prison library hadn't. Come hell or high water, he was finding what he needed and he certainly didn't want to have to go to a goddamn Barnes and Nobles to do so.

There were a half a dozen walkers ambling about mindlessly in the parking lot--certainly nothing the two of them couldn't handle. Working in tandem, he and Carol silently dispatched them with their knives while making their way to the entrance. The door was ajar, allowing them easy access. Rick banged loudly on the intact window, waiting for any stragglers to make themselves known. All stayed quiet and they slipped inside.

Carol remained on watch at the front, sharp blue eyes focused on the parking lot before them while Rick swiftly strode up and down the narrow aisles, eyes scanning the dusty shelves. He grabbed a few toddler books for Judith and a handful of comics for Carl along the way for their gifts.

He finally tracked it down in the Religion/Philosophy section, which was a bit ironic. The last fucking person alive in this cursed existence who would be religious was Daryl Dixon. That made him pause a moment, as he had never read this book himself, but the uncertainty passed almost immediately. The man himself had referred to being the only zen one in their group on a few occasions.

Meeting back up with Carol, he showed her the title as they walked back to their waiting sedan. Shaking her head a bit, she chuckled softly, "Perfect." Rick answered with a small grin of his own.

***

The liquor was flowing and laughter rang bright throughout the night in the cheery room. Michonne and Carl were poring through one of his new comics at one of the tables while Maggie sat on Glenn's lap, giggling in his ear about how much she loved her new (used) wedding band and that she would be giving him his special gift later. Judith was curled sweetly on Beth's lap, sleeping soundly. Rick caught the blonde's eye and mouthed "thank you" and she flashed him a gentle smile in return before starting to softly sing Silent Night. Carol was listening to Hershel's stories about past Christmases on the farm, mug of wine in her hand. Rick brought his own mug of whiskey to his lips and took a large sip, the liquor adding warmth to the glow he already felt from fondly observing his content family. And a certain shaggy-haired archer watched them all from the corner, standing with his hands tucked under his biceps, denim eyes dancing in the flickering lights. It was the perfect time to give Daryl his gift.

Rick stood up and left the room discreetly, heading to his cell to retrieve his present, snatching it from underneath his pillow. He stepped into the corridor to find Daryl waiting for him, a parcel wrapped in a plastic grocery bag clutched in his left hand. Smiling, Rick walked up to him.

"Gotcha somethin'," Daryl informed him in his gruff voice.

"Me first," Rick insisted, holding out the unwrapped book. Daryl took it in his right hand and flipped it over to read the title. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. "Couldn't help myself," said Rick as Daryl quickly perused the description on the back.

"Maybe after I read it, I can teach y'all how to be more zen like me," he joked, left half of his lips twisting into a slight smirk. Looking straight into Rick's eyes, he told him sincerely, "Thanks man...'preciate it."

"Yah. You're welcome." Rick nodded. Daryl held out his present, immediately putting his right thumb into his mouth and chewing on the side of his nail, shifting nervously as he watched Rick open the bag. Pulling it out, he could scarcely believe what was inside. It was a pink baby book with adorable woodland animals on the cover surrounding Judith's name, which was printed in block letters.

"When did you...?" asked Rick, awe causing his voice to tighten.

"Been workin' on it for a bit." Turning through the pages slowly, the father saw that many of the pages were blank, waiting for Judith to cross future milestones, such as her first word, first steps or favorite solid foods. But the few that had been filled in had obviously been done with care. An approximate two week span was written in the line for her birthday. The spaces for her parents and siblings had been filled in, along with "The Prison: Our Home" for her birthplace. One page in particular made Rick's eyes mist over as he lovingly fingered the edge of the Polaroid. The title was "Daddy and Me" and the picture taped in the empty space showed Rick laying down on the bed in his cell, Judith on his chest, both fast asleep. His daughter looked like an angel, and the man marveled at how relaxed he himself appeared.

Noting Rick focusing upon the page before him, Daryl answered his unspoken question. "I borrowed Glenn's camera 'fore he lost it. Took it when ya were sleeping."

"Damn Daryl. I don't know what to say."

"'S nothing."

"No, it's everything. Seriously. This means...fuck." Words were failing him. He simply didn't have the adequate words to express the emotions currently churning through him. He raked his fingers through his curls and let out a shaky chuckle. "I feel like I could kiss you right now."

The hunter shuffled his feet awkwardly as he mumbled, "Need mistletoe for that."

"Well, I guess I'll have to find you at midnight on New Year's then." What had started as light teasing fell away as soon as the suggestion left Rick's lips and Daryl's stormy eyes snapped up to meet his own. There was a determination in them, almost a hunger, as though he was willing with every fiber of his being for his leader to simply understand. A click, a shift occurred within Rick, and yearning was racing its way through his veins as it all felt so utterly right. He wondered how he had never fully realized it before this. Rick knew Daryl was his man through and through, but now he also wanted to possess him, worship him, mark him as belonging only to him. At the same time, he desired to be claimed by Daryl, spent and laid waste at his feet, completely at his mercy. His eyes must have reflected everything both he and the archer were feeling towards each other, and a promise was struck between them in that defining moment.

"Be sure you do," Daryl commanded him huskily. His severe blue gaze lingered, then he abruptly turned on his heel to return to the common room, angel wings disappearing around the corner.

It was the best damn Christmas Rick Grimes ever had and he absolutely couldn't wait for New Year's Eve. Truth be told, he had no intention of waiting even that long. Life in this world was too fucking short.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story comes from lyrics in Take You to the Mistletoe by The Kicks. Extreme Ironing is the title of an actual book, as is Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Although I have been writing fanfic for years, this is the ship that finally inspired me to post. Please let me know if there are any typos, etc. as this fic is unbeta'd and all mistakes are completely my own. Thank you so much for reading!


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